Three years ago- in the springtime- there was a big explosion, followed by an epic fire on the RV we (Addison Road, my former band) were traveling in. We weren’t on the RV at the time- and for that, I am forever grateful. But all of our stuff was. And by stuff, think everything you use to make it through the day. Like clothes and laptops. Then think of everything you use that makes it possible for you to work and earn a paycheck. Ok- we lost all of that stuff. Not to mention the actual vehicle.

It feels like a different life time- an eternity has been lived since that moment- an eternity learning about how good people are, how perfect God’s faithfulness is and what generosity really looks like.

I’ve learned a few universal characteristics about generous people these past three years.

This week, I want to share those with you.

Generous People Are ________. 

Making it through the fire and maintaining our business required a short term loan. But banks don’t really give loans to semi-successful bands whose stuff burns up and gets stolen all the time. We are sort of a risk, you know? So we found someone to give us a loan. Mr. American Express. He gave us everything we needed and then some. After about three months of recovering we realized we had to break-up with Mr. American Express and really wished we had never met him. We were back to the original problem. We needed a loan- but seriously- financial institutions were avoiding us like a plague. So I emailed our families, pastors, a few friends and one new acquaintance that I couldn’t make myself delete from the list.

That new acquaintance couldn’t make himself shake the email. He told his wife- “Addison Road needs a loan and can’t find one. They need $30,000.” He knew they had $30,000 sitting in an account somewhere, but didn’t dare mention it to his wife as a real option. Until she said, “Well- we have $30,000 in the kids college fund.”

And if reading that makes you feel uncomfortable- try being the girl on the other end of the phone.

I can’t take your kids college money- what if there is an emergency- and they need to get to college right away? As four-year-olds?!?

After some prayer together, some prayer with us, a contract that said we would honor the loan and a few phone calls back and forth, we found ourselves holding a personal check from a couple we had hardly known- for $30,000.

It should be noted- this isn’t a family of millionaires; just normal, middle class Americans. This decision carried a weight for them. But free people, truly free people, are OK making weighty decisions and taking a few risks.

The opposite of freedom is bondage. And most bondage is derived from fear.

What if our child DOES get into college by age 7?
What if there is a tragic accident and we need that money immediately?
What if we need a new house? Or another car? Or aliens invade?

People who live in fear of the “what-ifs” have a hard time being truly free.

Being financially set for life is a good thing, but we should bear in mind, it is a first world luxury. Historically, most people have not had the luxury to store up a good nest egg for retirement. Secure retirement is a direct result of modern living. And oh how I love modern living! Except that sometimes it damns us to live a life of fear, what-if’s and short-sighted selfishness.

I remember talking to the wife in the early days of this process and she said something that forever changed me, “What if my kids don’t make it to college? I have no guarantees of that- just today. Just what we feel like God is leading us to do right now.”

I mean- she speaks as a woman who might lose a child to the bubonic plague! Imagine! The audacity to live with her hands slightly opened to the possibility that she may not possibly direct her own future!

She lives free. They live free.

From this couple I learned the defining hallmark of truly generous people.

Generous people are free.

They don’t live in fear.

(At least not all the time.)

So do not consume yourselves with questions: What will we eat? What will we drink? What will we wear? Outsiders make themselves frantic over such questions; they don’t realize that your heavenly Father knows exactly what you need. Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and then all these things will be given to you too. So do not worry about tomorrow. Let tomorrow worry about itself. Living faithfully is a large enough task for today.  -Matthew 6: 31-34, The Voice Bible

I just got off the phone with my mom.

She is currently, at this very moment, sitting on her back porch coaxing the largest raccoon I have ever seen into eating bread out of her hand. She gives me the play by play.

“OK. He’s getting closer. And closer. Can you believe this?!? He’s not even scared of my voice!”

“No SIR. Do NOT eat from that bird feeder! Do you understand me?  That is not yours. Do not eat from the bird feeder.”

“Mom,” I try and get her attention, “Who are you talking to now?”

“Oh- still the raccoon. He knows what I am telling him. He understands my voice.”

And somehow you get the feeling- listening to my mom converse with this wild raccoon- that perhaps it actually does speak her language and does understand her voice.

Her. The lady who talks to- and names- wild raccoons. The one who fearlessly sang Jesus Loves Me to an angry longhorn who’s horns were pointed straight at her, because she was sure this was the best way to calm him down. The one who decided to rent a sheep from the neighbor down the street, to bring to church and use as a sermon illustration. Her. The one who frantically calls me with a sheep bleating in her back seat, wondering why the sheep isn’t calming down when she sings it Jesus Loves Me.

I mean- it worked on the longhorn.

Her.

The one who has made the absolute best of the empty nest and the daughters and granddaughters living all over the country. Not once giving up on her rights to be the most active grandma ever… even if it means playing hide-and go-seek in a self-made tent over Skype.

Her.

The one who has always encouraged alone time and freedom of expression. Even when it has meant children (and grandchildren) who hide under blankets and threaten to move to the woods behind the house (but actually just run-away to the laundry room). “I’d run away too!” She would say. And inevitably this leads her into quoting- and butchering- the entire storyline of Alexander and The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. “Move to Australia and eat worms!” she says in a moment of solidarity with her troops.

Her.

Who has built Annie a “magic house” deep in the woods. Complete with year-round Christmas ornaments, ribbons, wind chimes, Gnomes and magnificent stories. Her. The one who taught me to dream and think and pray and ask good questions and make craft projects- even when they all sucked- and not be afraid to build forts in the woods and produce my own newspaper by the age of five.  Her. The one who keeps giving Imagination. Creativity. Curiosity. New eyes for things long forgotten in this world. Like bugs and magic houses and old people with stories rich in heart ache and beauty.

Her.

The one who gave me my sisters. And by extension, my nieces. And kept my dad around- even when he was really mean- a long time ago- before he was the dad, the amazing dad, that he has grown to be now. Her- who has loved us all well. And fought to keep us together. And fought to keep us loving each other. And fought to keep underwear on our bodies and food in our bellies and fight in our spirit. Her. The one who was stepped on by people who claimed to love her- who was fired, humiliated, betrayed- and kept going back for more. Because it wasn’t about HER. Or them for that matter. It was about something bigger. It was about love winning. It was about Christ being constant- redemptive- worth it… even when people broke her.

Her.

The one who keeps fighting.

Her.

Who calls to let me know that Annie is hugging a chicken… and she is sure that Annie was gentle and didn’t squeeze the chicken too hard… that the chicken is just fine and loving it. LADY- I DONT CARE ABOUT THE CHICKEN. How is my daughter? Her- who keeps modeling over and over  and over again for anyone who will listen and pay attention… that life isn’t really all that complicated. Wake up. Sit and stare at a few birds. Listen for Jesus. Go do something that matters- mostly- pay attention to the people and the world around you… no matter what your job title might be. Love well. Hope deeply. Drink richly. Call your kids- or someone else you care about. Befriend a few wild animals. Hug a chicken. Repeat.

It just shouldn’t be as easy as hugging a chicken- but my God she makes it that way. With her,  life isn’t all the complicated- even when it hurts like hell. Even when it is insanely complicated. She is chaos- but knows no chaos. Somehow- she is peace. She is content.

Her. She is maddening and absolutely freeing in one fatal swoop.

Her. Who sang Amy Grant songs before the rest of the world understood that Amy Grant’s songs were life-changing. Her. Who explained to me and my sisters what it meant to live in an old man’s rubble, why angels watched over us and how there were so many names for God but El Shaddai was one of her favorites. Her. Who told us we had our Father’s Eyes. Over and over and over again. That we had our Father’s eyes. That we were made in the Father’s image and likeness- bearers of that goodness, freedom, grace, hope and love. We had our Father’s eyes. He made us and longed to use us. And dad agreed. God didn’t make us as girls and then limit how we might be used in the church and in the world… God made us fully in God’s image. We had his eyes. We were to hold nothing back from the church or the world. Just like…

Her.

Her. Our biggest fan. Who brought cow bells and bull horns to football games to cheer for us…. the cheerleaders. Yes, it was embarrassing. Her. Who was so worried that my heart had been shattered in the 9th grade when all the other cheerleaders got homecoming mums and I didn’t, that she went and ordered one for me herself. It ended up weighing about 20 pounds and was the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen in my life. But I wore it proudly through the parade because she loved me so much- she didn’t want me to feel the sting of being alone. That was worth wearing ugly proudly. Her. Who texted me as I left this summer for South Sudan and told me she was proud of me and that also- if I felt threatened- to scream wildly like a monkey and furiously itch my armpits and crotch- because “People in small villages are superstitious. They won’t touch you if they think you are demon-possessed.”

Her.

Who told me time and again, “Jenny it was just an accident. Accidents happen all the time. It’s no big deal.” Who cared very little about the “stuff” in our house and much about the people walking in and out of it. Who taught me more about scripture than how to apply make-up. More about grace than about stuffy, alienating, pretentious living. More about mercy than judgement. More about freedom than bondage to what others thought about me or what others might be doing. Her. Who would rather we paint our bodies and our walls and our world with bright big strokes- than live small and afraid and neat and tidy and conventional. Paint washes off you know? That’s what she would say. There was never an accident worth a dirty glare. Oh God how I’m grateful that there wasn’t an accident- in her book- worth a dirty glare.

Her.

Who loves my baby girl more than I seem to love her sometimes. Who loves me more than I seem to love myself sometimes. Who just loves. And loves. And loves.

Her.

Who has taught countless men and women- now spread out and trickled all over the world- that if you dig your feet into the sand long enough or stare at a sunset and shut-up soon enough- you will hear from God. Because God speaks. Now one way. Now another. In dreams. During “silent sounds.” On camping trips. In the mountains. At the beach. In your backyard. In the bathtub. On a bus with three hundred students driving to summer camp. God speaks. Over and over and over again. She has taught us that. Her. The one who heard God speak when she was stoned out of her mind and angry at the world and broken in a million pieces and all kinds of dirty and unusable- she heard God call her name and whisper to her that she had purpose. That she was loved. That she was known. That she could be set free. That he loved…

Her.

And she hasn’t turned back. And her daughters- we rise and call her blessed. And those she has pastored through junior high and high school. Through divorces and teenage pregnancies. Through lost jobs and lost love. In delivery rooms and deathbeds. In magic houses and talking to raccoons on her back porch… God has used HER…

To remind us that HE IS- and that’s enough.

I love you mom. This world is different because you have danced through it and shown us its beauty.

A few years ago after a show, I went backstage to find a 16-year-old guy sitting in the hallway by the green room. He was a rough looking kid. Dark circles under his eyes- tired- angry- and confirming the very thoughts in my head he spoke up first and said- “I just got out of juvi and I came straight here.”

Of course he did! Because I somehow attract people straight up out of prison and other institutions of brokenness- it’s like I have a target on my back and they have a honing device. So OF course he left prison and came straight to this church, sat in the back row and decided to make his way back to the hallway of my dressing room.

He said that if all that stuff I said on stage was true- why was the world so jacked up? How could he possibly believe in a God who would abandon us to this kind of evil? He told me he wanted to believe what I was saying, but he saw no evidence of God showing up anywhere.

I stopped and took a deep breath. Waiting for the right words to come. Because I know how the kid feels sometimes.

Really God? Really?

I didn’t want to give him a token answer. A scripture verse that was supposed to make it all go away and make the world’s evil make sense in one fatal swoop. A dogmatic statement or an apologetic argument that might guilt him, persuade him, terrify him or logically break him down into belief. I didn’t even want to tell him that Jesus loved him. Instantly- I saw all the easy words hanging out in mid-air in front of me; words I knew I was not supposed to speak because they seemed hollow. Not sufficient enough to capture what the kid was really asking for.

I knew he actually wanted and needed something different. I just didn’t know exactly what until I opened my mouth and it came out.

” You want to know why you don’t see God in the midst of all the world’s brokenness? You are looking for something too big. A pie-in-the-sky-magical-miracle God to show up and stop the evil. And while I want that too, and believe God can do it if God so chooses- historically- God doesn’t show up and stop evil… He shows up and walks us through evil. And he promises to defeat it. And then? He sends people.”

The kid looked at me like I was about to give him a sermon. I actually didn’t really know what I was going to say- I just kept opening my mouth.

“Look- there are security guards in the back of the building with weapons to protect all these people in here tonight. And yet- you are sitting right here in front of my dressing room. I could be a girl coming off stage who doesn’t give a crap about you. Or I could’ve come off stage pissed off that you are sitting by my door. Or scared of you. Or just a girl with enough Christian-esse in my repertoire to offer you a lame token scripture verse or prayer and send you on your way- hoping that someone else would deal with you- like your frigging caseworker. But you know what? None of that has happened. The security guards haven’t caught you. And I actually care about who you are and your story enough to not chase you away- or be afraid of you- or give you some b.s. answer to try and get you on your way- hoping someone else will take on the kid straight out of juvi. So… there’s your evidence that God is real. This should have gone a totally different way for you.”

At this- he laughed and for the first time I saw the kid that he was supposed to be. The light that was inside of him. And I learned a lot from what the Holy Spirit said through me. Sometimes you open your mouth and the words come- and they are way too smart or profound or beautiful to be your own words- and you get to learn from the very things being spoken out of your own mouth. This was one of those times.

I finished by telling him that God is most evidenced in people. The fact that the world has not self-imploded; that human beings have not annihilated one another; this is evidence of God’s supreme presence, love and mercy making itself known through His people. Left to our own devices- with no presence of God- we would do exactly as evil would have us do: kill, steal and destroy.

The VERY fact that we are HERE co-existing not segregating, growing not shrinking, advancing not declining, living not languishing away as we steal, kill and destroy one another is, to me, great evidence of God’s divine love and mercy at work every single day. To me, the very fact that we have not all pulled the trigger in some shape, form or fashion is enough evidence that there is someone bigger than us infusing us with a light that beats darkness.

“So- we are sitting here together in a hallway. You- a kid straight out of jail who has come back into a part of this huge building where you are not supposed to be. And me- a mom, a wife, a normal girl who actually cares enough to not go get security. I mean- the fact that we are both sitting here smiling now- to me has nothing to do with the fact that you are a rule-breaker and I am a lover of people- it has everything to do with the fact that God is real and shows up. Did any of the bad stuff around us go away?  No. But here we are sharing a holy moment in a hallway together instead of living in fear or hatred of one another. And that- to me- is evidence enough that God is real.”

***

On a day like today, where innocent people have lost their lives to senseless cowardice and pure evil, it is natural to doubt God. It is natural to be angry. It is human nature to wonder when all the madness of the world will end- to wonder why God isn’t showing up and to think about whether God could even be real in light of the brokenness around us.

And yet it is on days like today when the absolute BEST shines forth from people. People are brave. Courageous. Selfless. Strong. Resilient. Compassionate. Empathetic. And filled with hope. Strangers bandaging the wounds of another; opening their houses to those who have no place to go; running into the fire to bring someone’s mom, dad, brother or sister out of the flames. People are good. Light flows forth. And we share a million holy moments.

If what happened in Boston today is evil…

Then the response of every first responder, marathon runner, neighbor and friend who reached out to do whatever they could is Holy.

Sometimes I am reminded that God is real simply because we have not all pulled the trigger.

That we are here- and that the best shines forth during our darkest hours- is a testament to the God who shows up and does exactly what he promises to do in the holy scriptures… He walks through the valley of the shadow of death with us.

You may not see his face. You might just see a police officer. Or a pastor. Or a stranger.

But when you do- remember- God shows up. Now one way, now another.

Want evidence of God today? Look at HIS people.

That humanity thrives- loves-cares-gives-rebuilds-rebuilds- and rebuilds is evidence that where evil shows its face- holiness answers back.  Always.

“Evil does not define humanity. If it did- we’d all be cowards and murderers. We are not. Don’t lose heart. Evil does not win.”  @jennysimmons